


my sweet, sweet joanie

by punzie



Category: Clone High
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, JFK made the drawings of abe eating babies, Missing Scene, sorry if they're ooc!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:35:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26963782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punzie/pseuds/punzie
Summary: In all honesty, she had no idea what she was doing. Why she was doing what she was doing. It was pouring raining—she should be back at home with Toots, curled up on the couch with some poetry to read; but no, she was currently on her way to JFK’s place to pitch the dumbest revenge plot ever.
Relationships: Cleopatra/Abraham Lincoln (Clone High), Joan of Arc/JFK (Clone High)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 129





	my sweet, sweet joanie

**Author's Note:**

> THESE TWO ARE ALL MY BRAIN CAN THINK ABOUT SO!
> 
> i firmly believe we deserved more scenes and more DIALOGUE of these two together so here this is. LOTS OF DIALOGUE!
> 
> this is my first time publishing a fic online since i was like 13 and this is also my first time writing in a hot minute so??? i'm sorry. that's all. also no beta so DOUBLE SORRY.
> 
> anyways, i hope you enjoy! these two are so cute. i'm thinking this will be about 3 chapters so stay tuned for more!
> 
> (p.s. titles are taken from joanie by the front bottoms!)

A loud sloshing noise brought a cringe to Joan’s face as she stepped straight into a gigantic, muddy puddle. With a groan she shoved her cold, clammy hands under her armpits in an attempt to warm them up as she continued walking. The downpour soaked her hair and clothes. She grimaced.

In all honesty, she had no idea what she was doing. Why she was doing what she was doing. It was pouring raining—she should be back at home with Toots, curled up on the couch with some poetry to read; but no, she was currently on her way to JFK’s place to pitch the dumbest revenge plot ever.

Seriously, what was she thinking? She knew Abe was going to be fuming over this. How would it help her case with him whatsoever? It wouldn’t. In fact, it would quite literally do the exact opposite—but Joan has had enough. Abe putting himself in such dangerous situations all for Cleo’s attention was the last straw. Her scheme would surely give Kennedy the lead in the election.

* * *

“Hark! That sounds like the gentle knock of a vulnerable teenage girl!” JFK exclaims, quickly rushing to the door.

“You’re wet,” he states simply, staring down at Joan. “Allow me to dry you off... with my pants!”

“I wanna manage your campaign,” Joan proposes with a glare.

“Hey, whatever you’re into. Dads! I’m gonna be busy, uh, nailing this kinky broad for the next fifteen minutes!”

“Would you shut up?!” Joan snaps, eyes squeezing shut in frustration. “I’m here because I can’t stand Abe being Cleo’s puppet. And you can’t win the election without my help. Here’s what we’re gonna do.”

Joan leans forward, cupping her hand around JFK’s ear to whisper her plan. 

He smiles back at her once she’s finished, cupping her ear instead. 

“Well how about...” he trails off in whispers. Joan doesn’t get much of it besides “dental dam,” but she knows he’s making some strange allude to sex. 

Before he can continue, she cuts him off with a slap so hard he clenches his jaw.

“Okay! No dental dam.”

“God, Kennedy, can you go five minutes without hitting on every girl in your vicinity? We need to focus if we’re gonna be able to get this finished by tomorrow. Can I come in?”

“Oh, uh—yeah, just a second.” He leaves her dripping in the doorway.

Joan clutches her wet body, feeling strange and out of place here. The only time she’s ever been to JFK’s place was for that lame party a couple weeks back, and she never even went inside.

A few minutes later he finally returns, wrapping a towel around her shoulders.

“You, uh, must be cold an’ all. Plus, my dads’ll be real mad if ya damage the carpet.”

Touched by the sentiment, Joan pulls the towel tightly around herself. 

“Thanks, Kennedy,” she says quietly as she finally walks in, toeing her boots off at the door.

He acknowledges her thanks with a small nod, locking the door behind them.

“We can do it in my room. And by ‘it,’ I, er uh, mean your plan. Not nailing. Although—”

“Okay, stop right there,” Joan cuts him off, rolling her eyes. “That’s fine with me. Lead the way.”

“Sure thing, Joan.” Turning on his heel, JFK moves towards the stairs, stopping in a doorway to the left. “Gay foster Dads, Miss Of Arc an’ I will be doin’ somethin’ very, er uh, important up in my room.”

Wally pauses the television playing a rerun of Will and Grace, waving at Joan. 

“Oh, Joan baby! How ya doing? It’s been so long. Hope Toots is well! You two have fun—and be safe! Oh, and Johnny darling, give Joan some dry clothes to wear!”

Will and Grace quickly resumes play. Joan smiles awkwardly at the two men on the couch before JFK tugs on her arm, pulling her up the stairs.

“Yeah, yeah. Privacy, please!” He shouts before leading Joan into his bedroom, slamming the door. “Uh, sorry. They can be, er uh, a lot, sometimes.”

“It’s fine. I think it’s sweet.” Joan looks around the room, eyeing the various trophies spewed about. The mirror above his bed makes her chuckle under her breath.

“Sweet, huh?” JFK repeats, a hand rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “So, you uh, wanna borrow an old tee or somethin’?”

“Oh, you don’t have to—” by the time she had turned to face him he already had a shirt picked out and held out towards her. The thing looked like it would fit like a dress on her small frame. “Alright, then.”

Joan holds the shirt wrinkled up to her torso, staring blankly at JFK. The guy simply stares back, as if he’s waiting for her to straight up strip right there in front of him. The dopey grin on his face gives away the fact he’s mentally undressing Joan. She sighs.

“Is there a bathroom or something I can change in?” She asks, tone deadpan.

“Oh! Sure, it’s the, uh, room right ‘cross from this one,” he directs her, sitting down on his bed. “I’ll just be here, then.” 

Joan shakes her head, making her way across the hallway to the bathroom parallel to Kennedy’s bedroom. She makes use of the towel he gave her earlier, giving her hair a thorough dry (to the best of her abilities short of a hair dryer). After hanging the towel up to dry, she steps out of her pants and tugs her shirt off. Her undergarments are still a bit damp, but there’s no way she’s going without them in front of Kennedy. Finally, she pulls the oversized t-shirt over her head, viewing herself in the mirror. The shirt indeed fits her like a dress, falling to her lower thighs.

She exits the bathroom with a groan. It’ll have to do.

“No comments about this, okay? I don’t want to hear a single quip from you,” she demands as she re-enters the boy’s bedroom, crossing her arms over her chest.

“But, Joan,” JFK pouts, “my ole shirt looks so good on ya! It’d look even better on the, er uh, floor, though!”  
  
Joan punches him in the arm. _Hard._

“Ow! Okay, no more! I, er uh, just had to get at least one out!”

“Whatever. Look, JFK, I didn’t come over here to hang out with you and crack jokes. I’m seriously worried about Abe,” she confesses, taking a seat next to him on the bed.

“And you, uh, think helpin’ me out with my campaign will help how, exactly?” he questions, tilting his head.

“Ugh! I don’t know, okay? I’m just so tired of seeing him do such stupid shit for Cleo’s attention. At this rate he’s gonna get himself killed!”

“Maybe that’d be for the better,” JFK says with a shrug. “I’d, er uh, get Cleo back, you’d be able to move on from that bozo… sounds like a win-win situation if ya ask me.”

“I’m not having this conversation with you,” Joan announces, brows knit together. “I’m not some… some lovesick puppy dog, okay? I don’t need to move on from anything other than this discussion. Can we get started on campaign business?”

* * *

And just like that, the pair of clones got to work brainstorming ideas for an Anti-Abe campaign advertisement they’d put on in front of the whole school. JFK came up with some ridiculous scandal regarding Abe lying about his age, meanwhile Joan pitched some more gruesome ideas. Eventually they settled on claiming Abe eats babies.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Whoa. How the hell’re we gonna convince the whole school Lincoln eats, er uh, _babies?_ Wait—Joan, does he really? Do you have proof? Oh my god!” JFK’s voice wavers as he questions her, face contorted in fear.

Joan simply rolls her eyes.

“No, you idiot,” she namecalls (except there’s no bite behind her bark), “I have this old video of him eating spaghetti—well, it’s more than that, but all you need to know is I can make it _look_ like he eats babies.”

“You’re a witch, Jo, truly,” he jests in amazement.

* * *

Truthfully, the past hour-or-so working together with Kennedy had been uncharacteristically pleasant. Joan’s not used to going more than five minutes without wanting to punch him; but now, he’s even managed to make her genuinely laugh a few times.

“So, for the ad, I’m gonna need some pictures of Abe eating babies. I was thinking maybe you could draw some up, if you want to…?” Joan offers, glancing at JFK.

“You can count on me! I, er uh, will make real scary pictures of Lincoln munchin’ on babies. I may be no Van Gogh, but I bet everyone’ll fall for it!” he declares, dramatically putting a hand over his chest.

“Perfect. Well, it’s getting pretty late… I should probably head home. Toots will be wondering where I am by now.” She gathers up her things as she speaks. “If you could just meet me before school with the pictures, I’ll be able to whip up the video by lunch.”

“Okay,” he promises with a smile. “Did you, uh, walk here? ‘Cause I could give ya a ride home, if you’d like.”

“Oh, really? That’d be amazing. Thanks.”

* * *

Joan stares out the window of JFK’s van as Exclamation flies by. He’s got some old rock song playing and he’s singing along (horribly). For some reason, she’s strangely content. Sure, the faint smell of Cleo’s perfume still lingers in the air of the car, and Kennedy’s still… Kennedy; but, she can’t deny she had a good time hanging out with him.

She chances a glance at JFK. Thankfully, he’s focused on the road—so she takes the time to stare. What’s the harm, right? Anyone would admit he’s nice on the eyes, including Joan. She watches his strong jaw move as he sings, her eyes trailing the curves of his profile.

It doesn’t take him long to catch her staring.

“Uh, Joan? You okay over there?” He tilts his head at her in question. She quickly tears her eyes away, straightening to look forward at the road.

“Yeah! I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be? Oh yeah, maybe because you drive like a lunatic.” Changing the subject is good. She doesn’t want to inflate his ego by admitting she was ogling. Plus, it’s the truth—the guy’s probably going twenty over the limit.

“Hrm, whatever you say!” He brushes it off with a shrug. “I, er uh, like to go fast! This ain’t nothin’ compared to drag racing!”

She quirks an eyebrow. How JFK-like to indulge in _drag racing._ She can’t say she’s surprised.

It’s not long before they finally arrive at Joan’s house (only thanks to her directions—Kennedy had turned the wrong way twice). He parks the van, quickly jumping out the driver’s seat. Joan’s confused, that is until she’s greeted with him opening the passenger door for her.

“You didn’t need to do that,” she says with a shake of her head. Nonetheless, she grabs her damp clothes and latches onto his outstretched hand to steady herself as she exits the van. “Thanks.”

“I am, uh, a gentleman! Who does gentlemanly things!”

Their hands stay connected a moment too long. Joan pulls away, willing away the blush on her cheeks. They walk to the door side-by-side, crickets and frogs making noises in the dark of the night around them.

“Well, thanks for the ride,” Joan starts, a hand on the doorknob. “You know, I had a pretty nice time with you tonight. Maybe you’re not so bad.”

He gives her that dopey, lopsided grin of his.

“I’m, er uh, glad, Joanie,” he replies, nickname slipping out. Under the porch light, she can see the tips of his ears go red at that. It makes her stomach do this weird flip-flop thing she’s not sure she likes or not.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Abe isn’t gonna suspect a thing.” 

With that, she finally enters her house, leaving him alone on the porch. She leans against the door and lets out a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding in when she hears his van drive away.

What a strange night.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! kudos and comments greatly appreciated! <3


End file.
